


rainy night in riverdale

by cptsuke



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Asexual Jughead Jones, Coda, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: After a car full of evidence has gone up in flames and Polly Cooper has run off into a stormy night, Jughead and Betty take refuge in her room and there's fallout out from a kiss to suffer through.a 106 episode coda.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is me trying to sort out my massive feelings for ace!jughead, and its basically just a mess of introspection and hopefully it makes some sort of sense.   
> thoughts & comments would be greatly appreciated. & as always, character thoughts do not always match mine, and jughead requires infinite hugs.

Jughead is standing in Betty's room after a long day and longer night.

His hair is still damp from the rain and he's tired and not looking forward to spending another night in the lumpy makeshift bed he's put together in the place he's squatting now. It's somehow more uncomfortable than the cot he had at the drive-in. He's exhausted and instead of sitting at Pop's writing out his frustration, he's here. In Betty's room, standing in defeated silence as he watches Betty's shoulders move with angry breaths.

He kissed her in this room, taken her face in his hands and kissed her, why had he done that? He thinks maybe that was a mistake even though he thinks he doesn't regret it.

 

Betty is a darling is the problem. She's bubblegum, soft pink sweaters and _cheerleading._ _E_ verything he's not.

But Jughead's known her almost as long as he's known Archie and eight year old Betty had shared her sandwich with him every lunch for a month when his mom had one of her troubles and his dad had fallen into a bottle til she came back. And she'd never mentioned it or made a big deal of it.

Betty never judged any of Jughead's choices, whether it be his name, friends or clothing. And she never expected anything but what he was freely giving.

It never seemed to matter much to her that in the societal hierarchy of high school,someone like him should have never even had the opportunity to be friends with her.

Betty was kind and nice and had a spine of steel and Jughead has no idea how she managed to sneak into the tiny place in his heart that he keeps hollowed out for friends.

Sometimes he thinks Betty understood him better than anyone – better than Archie even with all their shared years. She understood the tearing uncertainty of parents you loved but couldn't trust. The lingering betrayal that gnawed as it mixed in with good memories and soured them.

 

He wants to tell her that, but it's maybe easier if he doesn't. See, he doesn't know what he wants, isn't sure what the next step is when he's already leapt into the darkness.

See Jughead doesn't know what he is, not really, he might be Riverdale High's resident weirdo, but he's dated – tried to date – people before.

It's just nothing had ever worked out.

At first he'd thought maybe he'd been too young, too immature, maybe just not ready. He'd gone through the phase of being angry with himself for not feeling what he's told (heard) that he should.

He knew what he was supposed to feel but the lack of _want_ leaves him feeling adrift.

But it's okay, Jughead's armed with the internet and its multitude of conflicting personal accounts from all over the world and clinical but vague wikipedia pages. And all of it comforts him and yet, doesn't help at goddamn all because he's sixteen and google won't give him the answer to  _am I in love with her or do I just really love being her friend_.

(Its the latest search in a long line of frustrated searches ranging from _the place im squatting is being torn down fukc what the fuck do I do_ to I _dont think I want to have sex help._ _)_

Jughead's tried to accept that maybe he's going to be alone forever - who would want to be with him when he's not offering anything? - and maybe it's just another strike against his name and he'll deal with it like all the the other strikes. He's got an on and off again alcoholic, gang leading father, and a disappeared mother and sister _,_ he'll deal like he always does, with trial and error, and liberally applied cynicism.

 

 

He's too busy, stuck in his own head, he doesn't notice that Betty's stopped her distressed pacing, and she's suddenly very close.

Her arms wrap around him, so sudden that he can't help but freeze, just for a moment, stiffening up in surprise and Betty's arms drop like he'd burnt her.

And he's so goddamned stupid. It's just a fucking hug, how much of a dysfunctional freak is he if he hurts one of his best friend – his girlfriend? Is Betty his girlfriend? - over a _hug._

He can't look at her, not after this. He's got to just cut and run, he thinks, it was fun while it lasted but he can't talk about this, doesn't even know how to put into words something that he doesn't understand himself.

So he'll run, leave and freeze her out until Betty turns from him just like everyone seems to do after enough radio silence.

(and he gets it, he does, everyone's dealing with something and he's just the only one not wearing it on his sleeve.)

So he goes to leave - already mentally farewelling all the time they've spent together and any plans they might have had in the future – but then Betty's hand, soft and hesitating, is on his wrist.

Not holding, just feather light fingertips accompanied with a soft _hey._

Jughead thinks if she just left it at that he could have still walked away, walls intact and well shored.

But her head ducks, trying to get a good look at his own and asking in a just as impossibly gentle _Is this okay?_

“I'm sorry.” He says, staring at her socks. They're the palest pink, almost white. He has a hole in his near his big toe that rubs uncomfortably when he does stupid things like run or climb ladders into girl's bedrooms.

“You don't have to. If I'm. Juggie.” He gentle tone shifts slowly more and more serious as she flounders for the words she wants to say. “We'll _always_ be friends.”

Her voice ends hard, like she'll fight anyone who says otherwise.

And the thing is.

He doesn't know.

He likes her hand on his wrist. Likes the comfort of her arms around his shoulders when she does hug him, the little squeeze she gives before letting him go, like an exclamation point for her feelings.

And he thinks maybe he could have this. Maybe she won't want and want and _want_ things he can't give, things he forgot other people craved like a need.

“I don't think I know how to do this.”

(she's not the first person he's tried before, to explain, but they'd laughed in his face and threw ugly words to cover their own hurt, as though there was someone to blame for his lack of sexual want, as though his hesitant affection was a slight on them)

He expects that again; he shouldn't, it's Betty (good, kind and fierce) but he does because she's been hurt so often and he understands better than most that hurt people lashed out like cornered animals.

“You don't have to do anything.” Betty says with the sort of conviction he's not used to hearing in real life.

“But. I. You.” His words have abandoned him in the face of understanding where he's only ever found hostility.

“Juggie.” Her other hand takes his.

They're holding hands.

It's not terrible.

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”

(he wonders if she's thinking of Archie and how easy it is to give in, to just do what's expected.)

“What if I never want to?” Jughead can't believe that small voice is his.

If he starts crying, he thinks, he's going to jump out the window.

Betty's laugh is as gentle as the rest of her, and he wants to put her on his shoulder, hold her up for the rest of the world to see how good a person could be.

“Then we won't. Sex-” His flinch would be unnoticeable if only she wasn't holding his hands. “isn't everything. Well. It doesn't have to be. I'm not even, I mean, I'm not. Not yet.”

Jughead looks up from her perfect pink socks, there's a rising red blush creeping up her neck and face as she stumbles over her words.

_Of course,_ he thinks, they're sixteen. Sex was embarrassing even if it didn't fill her with dread like it did him, and there's something in her blushing that consoles him better than nay well thought out eloquence.

 

It's still raining out. And he toys with the idea that he's using Betty to avoid going back outside, to avoid being out in the night, damp and chilled to the bone.

But Jughead prides himself in being self aware if more than a little jaded, he knows he's a stubborn fuck when it comes to pride and he knows no amount of discomfort could make him admit his living situation. If he knows nothing else, Jughead knows he'll never let anyone know he has no home.

“Stay. _”_ she says.

_Stay_ like she knows he's got nowhere to go.

He drops his head down, forehead against hers, and she hugs him again, her movements not hesitant, but careful nonetheless.

“Please stay.” She asks again, tugging him towards the bed.

They fold together easily on her bed and though when he closes his eyes they're back to back, her shoulder blades shifting against his, in the morning he'll wake with blonde hair in his mouth. With a warm body tucked beneath his chin and it might be as close to serenity as he's ever felt.


End file.
